Don't Peek Inside

On the way to the warehouse, the scenery changed from a bustling city to a grassland devoid of trees, from dawn to dusk. Luther Fernando, a young clean man, got out of his mediocre car, perched on the brittle road, and made his way toward the thundering iron fence surrounding the warehouse. The gate was open so Luther headed right in.

The warehouse was an enormous brick building with no dents or scratches on it. By the warehouse's overhead silver door stood Mr. Gardner, a wrinkly old man wearing a leather garment and was the one who offered him this job, 

“Ah,” the old man said, facing Luther, shaking his hand. “Our new night guard. Luther, right?”

Luther nodded his head and they both entered the enormous warehouse. It was vast with variations in size, cardboard boxes, stacked, toppled, everywhere, as if the warehouse would never end.

“In the event, anyone breaks in, make sure they don't steal anything. Everything in here is really valuable- Er, I mean- just don't peek inside the boxes. Do your job and you'll be fine,” Mr. Gardner told him while smiling and tapping him on the shoulder. “On the seat over there is all the stuff you will need.”

“Thanks,” replied Luther.

After he left, Luther noticed the blue chair next to a closet in the corner of the warehouse and saw the stuff Mr. Gardner was talking about. There was a buckle belt, a red flashlight, a small headlight, and a golden key. He wrapped the belt around his waist and strapped the items onto it. Afterward, he sat on the chair, glancing around the room, thinking about how his life will run smoother from now on. He was sick of being the most broke one in the family. His wealthy uncle was a security guard at a warehouse in the city and he made it to manager rank just like Mr. Gardner but that warehouse was charred. Other than that, Luther just wanted a break from the city side.

#

He played entertaining games on his cracked phone until he noticed the time was 11: 34 PM and his battery was at 16%. Had it been that long? He rose to stretch and to clear his vision from the blue rays. He glanced at the boxes, curiously. What was in there? Taking a break from his phone, he walked to one of the boxes closest to him. He stood over it. It was as small as a board game box. He grabbed it and took the lid off, and lay it on the floor.

His heart dropped.

There were pistols, rifles, knives, fuzzy ropes, and razor-sharp daggers. He popped the lid on and paced around the small box, with his hands over his head. What was this? Who was he guarding this against? He had so many questions it was making his head feel like it was going to burst. He was breathing as if he would never breathe again. Without the slightest of thoughts, he opened another, a square box. And this open box made him question everything. It was a cake. A fabulous red cake with a piece of burnt toast on its side. He took a big gulp.

“Damn,” he gasped.

#

Mr. Gardner sat on his soft alluring sofa in his old-fashioned living room, with his eyes closed. He heard a slight rumble, making his eyes burst open. His lamp on the coffee table began to flicker, his other lights around the room following. He stood, cracking his back, and looked around frantically. Suddenly, all the lights turned off as if Mr. Gardner was closing his eyes to go to sleep.

He turned around and saw two small bright eyes with no pupils staring at him, Mr. Gardner making direct eye contact. His heart was beating so fast it could come out any second now. 

“I told you not to let him peek inside,” a crispy voice said.

Absent-mindedly, Mr. Gardner started to pick at his old wrinkled face. His legs were wobbly and he started to pinch his face now. Now tugging it. Then ripping his sweaty flesh off as if it were paper. Blood was gushing from his face like a waterfall. He grabbed his squishy eyeball and popped it out from his head. He did the same with his other eye. 

He needed to do this but he didn't know why. Actually, he knew exactly why. He had failed and this was his final chance.

First, he ripped open his brown shirt and, second, started to rip open his chest, revealing his heart. He smiled as blood was spurting, surging from his muscle face, and leaking down his open chest to the carpet.

He plunged forward and he was dead.

After he died, the two white eyes were still staring at him. 

#

Luther was hyperventilating. Was he part of some evil plot? He repeatedly tried to open the large silver garage door for about 10 minutes but they were not budging. Was he going to die? He gave up and paced around the space, staring at his blank cracked phone. How was it dead?

He hadn't used it since he put it away. How did it die when he wasn't even using it? Suddenly, the warehouse's grand lights started flickering on and off, making Luther flinch. A second later, the lights turned out for good, making it seem like he was in an all-painted black room. He groped for the red flashlight on his belt until he eventually got it. He turned it on and all he could see were the same boxes he had opened, nothing more. He heard a box tumble on the right so he moved his flashlight in that direction but couldn't see anything. Now his heart was beating fast. Mr. Gardner never prepared him for burglars, so he returned to trying to open the doors.

There was that same thump again but this time louder. Whoever had broken in here was getting closer, but why were they taking so long? Maybe since the lights are turned off dummy

“Who's here!” he finally shouted.

“I'm here!” a croaky voice shouted back.

Luther was caught completely off guard and raised his flashlight towards the voice but couldn't make out any shape. 

Suddenly he was punched by an invisible force, stumbling him back a couple of feet. Blinded, he tried punching the air, hoping he could knock out whoever had hit him. It was only then he saw a knife, all the way stuffed in, through his stomach, blood, leaking down his lower body. Slowly, he knelt, and his vision blurred. Memories played in his mind of his brother and sister, like living his full life again, all in one second. He pelted to the ground, his flashlight trembling.

He got stabbed again. This time in his heart, his flashlight rolling away, switching off. It was all dark now.

His eyes, fluttering, saw something above him, in all the darkness. There were two eyes, white as snow, with no pupils he could make out, eyeballing Luther. He heard loud breathing but he couldn't tell if it was his own or that thing above. A cold greasy hand lifted him to the white eyes, still looking hard at him.

“Hello, Luther. Similar name to my old one,” a dead voice said. “You'll fit in perfectly.”